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She almost snorted at the thought.
She was absolutely not going to allow her sister to end up with someone so boring.
But—-
Fleur bit her lip. She did want the opposite of tedious for her sister, but the marquis seemed a bit too much. He was a rake, a wolf, and a demon. He was dangerous, in every way. Did she really trust this man to look after her sister?
“Milady,” the marquis murmured.
She carefully wiped her face clean of any expression, asking, “Yes?”
“I can promise that I will do everything not to hurt her, and this I swear on my honor as one of the Galeré.”
She said slowly, “Alright.”
Seeing the apprehensive look she gave him, Ilie said mildly, “I’m no monster, milady.”
“Oh, but you are, milord.” Fleur’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Everyone is, next to my sister.”
ILIE’S HIRED CARRIAGE parked a few feet away from the cake shop, allowing him a generous view of the establishment and its patrons. Old rose damask graced the walls, its intricate floral patterns complementing the scrollwork on the ceiling and the elaborate design of the carpet.
The shop was near to full, but he found her easily enough, seated alone in one of the tables, enjoying a slice of cheesecake while reading a book of poetry.
The biggest romantic of all, Fleur had said.
Ilie frowned. He had thought the girl was lying, but maybe not.
With his power cloaked and the hired carriage giving him anonymity, Ilie had all the chance in the world to feast his eyes on her, and so he did, his gaze roaming over her ever so slowly.
Her hair was a mass of elegant curls arranged on top of her head, with a few locks let loose to frame her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the brightest shade of blue, like the skies of Ciel. And her lips were small and shaped like a rose—-
Ilie imagined those lips under his, and lust uncurled inside him, heating his blood.
Soleil Orpheline was his heartkeeper.
His.
No one else’s.
Possessive pleasure flooded him at the thought.
He had known about the possibility that she existed, of course, but he had not let himself hope. He had been roaming the world for over nine hundred years. He had thought he had seen it all and believed that he had missed his chance.
His gaze drifted back to his heartkeeper. She was dressed in a gown of lilac silk, and he scowled when he noticed how low the neckline was, revealing more than a hint of her generous bosom. Those beautiful big breasts were his, and he was determined the day wouldn’t end until she knew this, too.
He saw her turn the page of her book. Her eyes widened a moment later, and a blush of pink touched her cheeks.
Was that really poetry she was reading, he wondered, intrigued.
Leaning back against his seat, the marquis crossed his arms over his chest and considered his options. If she truly was a romantic, then he had to do things by the book and court her with the full works – flowers, chocolate, and other trinkets, escorting her to parties and inviting her for a walk in the park, the likes.
She would appreciate that, wouldn’t she?
She probably would, but the problem was, that was not Ilie’s style at all.
He had always liked going against the rules, and the idea that he would have to actually bow down to custom chafed.
Might there be a compromise? Might it be possible that he be allowed to court her in private and—-
His nostrils suddenly flared, his wolf instincts catching the scent of another predator – someone infinitely punier to Ilie – attempting to poach on his territory. His gaze swung sharply back to her, and that was when he saw a rakish-looking nobleman chatting her up.
“LADY SOLEIL?”
Soleil snapped her book shut, cheeks flushing as she looked up. It was Sir Reginald, considered one of this Season’s better catches. What he lacked in terms of titles, he made up with his considerable fortune.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she murmured as he bowed.
He smiled at her, saying, “My day’s complete now that my eyes have rested upon you, milady.”
“Here we go again, milord, with your too-pretty words,” she said lightly.
His gaze slid curiously to her book. “What’s this you’re reading?”
Before she could answer, the knight was already reaching to pick it up—-
No!
She would be ruined if anyone found out what she was reading!
Soleil hurriedly reached for the book, and their fingers touched.
A gasp escaped her. She had held men’s hands countless times, but they were men she was targeting to kill. This was totally different.
But before either of them could yank their hands away, another hand appeared and the book disappeared from their grasps.
She gasped again, twisting to see who it was, and a third gasp escaped her when the marquis, standing behind her chair, gave her a lazy smile.
